


The Phantom of the Newspaper

by paranoidangel



Category: The Ten Stupidest Things I've Heard Since Richard III's Remains Were Identified
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 04:43:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranoidangel/pseuds/paranoidangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not quite so ace reporter, Kimberly Lexington, has an unusual news source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Phantom of the Newspaper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [valderys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valderys/gifts).



> Thanks to my beta, justice_turtle.

**Tudor Spies in Leicester**  
Lead Osteologist on Richard III dig identified as Tudor spy  
 _by Kimberly Lexington_

"Kimberly!"

She was almost at her desk when Gavin yelled at her from the doorway of his office. Kimberly paused, her jacket half unbuttoned and glanced across the room. Gavin looked like he'd had a bad morning already, with his tie askew and his hair ruffled. He shot Kimberly a glare, then went back inside his office.

Gavin was the paper's editor and until recently Kimberly got on well with him. She'd been to his cocktail parties where she'd admired his wife's designer dresses and felt jealous of the money that could buy them. She hadn't gone into journalism for the money, but she thought she would have been higher up by now. Even the paper's star reporter was younger than she was. It didn't look like a promotion was likely any time soon, either, given that in the past couple of months she'd been in Gavin's office on a near-weekly basis for the same reason and she still hadn't found a way to keep everyone happy.

She turned and threaded her way past the printer and the three people attempting to clear the paper jam. By the time she reached Gavin's office he was concentrating on his computer screen, but she suspected that was a ruse so he could make her feel uncomfortable before he started. She was immune to it by now, though.

It was only once she'd shut the door that he looked up. "What is this?"

As soon as she sat down, he slid a sheet of paper across his desk. She picked it up between her thumb and forefinger, but relaxed when she saw the contents. It was just a print-out of her most recent submission. "It's my article." She decided to brazen her way through it, acting as if nothing was wrong.

He shook his head. "Don't give me that."

She placed the piece of paper back on his desk and slumped in her seat a little. She'd tried every technique she knew each time he'd asked this question and by now Gavin was too used to them to all let her get very far. "I swear it's all true." She looked him in the eye, hoping he'd be able to see her sincerity in her face.

"It is, is it?" He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on his desk. "Go on, then."

She sat up straight, resting her hands on the arms of the chair. "The osteologist was getting daily phone calls from a pay as you go phone. They were instructing her to replace his vertebrae with those from another corpse and arrange them to make it look like Richard III had scoliosis."

Gavin put his hands up, looking as if he was admitting she was right, but she knew better. "And your proof?"

"My source overheard her calls." She flexed then straightened her hands, wishing they didn't get so sweaty every time she was in this office.

He raised his eyebrows, an invitation to elaborate.

She hesitated, but he waited her out and eventually she answered the implicit question. "I'm afraid I can't reveal my source."

He banged his hands down on the desk. "I'm trying to improve this newspaper's reputation. I need to print facts. If you want to write fiction, write a book."

Perhaps she would. At least it would get the truth out there.

But Gavin hadn't finished chewing her out yet and he leaned forward as he continued. "You know what happened last time I took your word for it. Another libel suit will ruin us."

She bit her lip. "I know, I'm sorry." At the time Gavin had been so irate that he'd threatened to take it out of her wages, even though it would have meant she'd be living on the street. She didn't think he'd follow through on the threat if it happened a second time, but couldn't be sure.

He sighed. "Please just write something you can back-up before I'm forced to fire you." He turned back to his computer.

Her eyes widened. This was the first time he'd mentioned firing her and it scared her a little. She might not get another job with a dismissal on her CV, to say nothing of the dearth of articles she'd had published recently. As she left his office she heard him mutter, "Damn Richard III", followed by the flutter of papers falling off his desk - more than would be expected from the breeze created by the door. She glanced back to see Gavin frowning and looking around, before bending over to pick them up.

Back in the newsroom she could feel the sympathetic looks from her colleagues, even though she kept her gaze to the floor so she wouldn't have to see them. But she couldn't bear the attention, so she grabbed her bag and fled to the toilets on the floor below.

The ladies' was mercifully empty this early in the morning. She dumped her bag at the back of the sinks and stared into the mirror above. It didn't give her any clues, except to tell her that at least she hadn't smudged her make-up yet.

"I'm sorry," said a voice by her ear, although there was no one beside her in the mirror.

She didn't jump - she was used to it by now. "It's not your fault." She turned to face the apparition. "We'll find a way to make sure you rest in peace."

"Perhaps I just need to be buried," Richard suggested. "Again."

She chuckled. "Have you heard the arguments your descendants have been having over York and Leicester? It's the Wars of the Roses all over again." Until recently she hadn't known much about the subject, except for it having been vaguely mentioned in school history lessons. That was until the announcement that some bones that had been dug up in a car park in Leicester had belonged to Richard III. That same night she'd started being haunted by Richard III's ghost, who'd given her a crash course, aided by Wikipedia.

He nodded. "I read the newspapers too."

Yes, over her shoulder, which was annoying, but there was nothing she could get to stop him and she had tried.

"Where would you rather be buried? If--" She broke off as the door opened and smiled at Judy, who gave her a suspicious look.

She grabbed her bag, about to go out and find somewhere else to have this conversation, when her mobile rang. It was an unfamiliar number, but turned out to be someone with a story Gavin might finally take seriously. Even if it was still about Richard III.

* * *

"Where would you like to be buried?" Kimberly tried asking after lunch, on the way to the theatre. When she didn't get a reply, she looked over at the passenger seat. Richard was too busy staring out the side window to listen to her. Even after two months, he still couldn't get over the speed at which cars travelled. She smiled indulgently - she was going to miss him when he was gone. Despite the havoc he was playing with her career, he'd shown her the world in a whole new light with his delight over the miracles she performed with electronics she thought of as impossible to live without.

Once they'd found a space in the packed multi-storey she repeated her question, albeit in a whisper, what with shoppers and other theatre-goers around.

"I really don't care," he replied. "I'm dead, I'm not sure it matters any more."

"A lot of help you are," she muttered, ignoring the stares a passing couple gave her for talking to herself. She was even starting to get used to that.

* * *

"I'm Anne." The dark-haired young woman shook Kimberly's hand. "I thought since you were a Ricardian you'd be able to help us."

"I'll certainly do what I can." Once upon a time she hadn't even known what a Ricardian was. Now she was probably Richard III's best friend. She wouldn't have said he was handsome at first, but he grew on you somehow and it was hard to be unsympathetic to someone who looked at you with puppy dog eyes.

"This is Eddie, Isabel and Jon." Kimberly shook hands with the others, briefly wondering how they'd got involved, but she'd ask later, for the article. They were an unlikely bunch, with Eddie looking like he could only be just out of school, Isabel old enough to be his mother, and Jon a well-dressed man wearing a wedding ring.

"Shall we find our seats?" Anne passed out the tickets and they made their way through the crowds in the lobby to their seats towards the middle of the stalls.

The theatre was still only half full, and as they waited Kimberly asked Anne what she was hoping for from Psychic Stacy.

"We'd just like to put an end to the arguments about where Richard III should be buried. Since his descendants can't agree, we thought it was worth trying the man himself." Kimberly's disbelieving thoughts must have been expressed on her face, because Anne smiled and added, "I've been to these shows before. It's amazing what psychics can do."

Kimberly didn't find that as reassuring as it was intended to be. The woman had sounded perfectly sane on the phone, but now she wondered. She was all for laying the former king to rest, but contacting the spirit world seemed like a step too far.

"It doesn't matter if it's not Richard who answers." Isabel took up the explanation from Anne's other side. "Anyone who can tell us whether he'd prefer to be buried in York or Leicester will do."

Kimberly made sure not to look up at Richard, who was standing in the aisle, making faces at everyone who went past. Sometimes she wondered if he liked being a ghost more than he let on, and she hoped he wasn't planning on having too much fun at these people's expense.

"If you believe, it will work." Anne certainly looked like someone who believed.

Kimberly smiled at her. "I believe. This isn't the first time I've spoken to a dead person to get a story."

Anne breathed a sigh of relief as the lights dimmed for the start of the show.

Kimberly had never seen a psychic before and wasn't sure she was seeing one now. Stacy spent the show talking about people's loved ones and the audience members she spoke to cried as she told them their parents/husbands/grandparents/best friends loved them and forgave them. It was too predictable to be believable.

That was until near the end of the first half when she asked if anyone in the audience knew a Richard.

Richard III appeared beside her on the stage, "Yes, me!" he said excitedly, practically jumping up and down. Stacy either ignored him or didn't know he was there. His waving his hand in front of her face confirmed for Kimberly that it was the latter.

"He lived a long time ago," Stacy continued.

Anne put her hand up. "I have an ancestor called Richard."

"So do we all. It's a common name," someone behind them muttered. Kimberly was glad she wasn't the only sceptic in the audience.

"He was fond of roses, I think." Stacy sounded unsure of herself now.

"White ones," Anne said, jumping to her feet.

"Yes." Stacy relaxed and looked happier at last. "Yes, that's it. White roses, not red ones. He has a message for you." She closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them her gaze was unfocused. "Something about preferring York to Leicester." She frowned and looked back at Anne. "Does that mean anything to you?"

"Yes." Anne grinned. "Oh, yes, it does."

* * *

"Richard wants to be buried in York," Anne concluded in the bar afterwards. They'd skipped the second half of the show, now they'd got an answer.

"Not necessarily. Richard's father was also called Richard and so was his grandfather," Kimberly pointed out, holding her glass of orange juice in front of her like a shield. Anne wanted to believe so badly that Kimberly worried anything she said would be construed as an attack. Even if Stacy was really a psychic, it couldn't have been Richard III who answered, because she hadn't heard him, but she couldn't explain that to anyone.

Anne shook her head. "No. It must have been Richard. Our Richard."

Kimberly sighed. It might not be worth trying to get through to Anne, but just as she'd decided to give up trying to convince her, Anne asked, "What makes you think it isn't?"

She might as well just come out with it. These were people who believed in psychics and Anne might just make the leap. Besides, what did Kimberly have to lose when her job was already on the line? "Because I'm being haunted by the ghost of Richard III."

"Oh, I thought it was just me."

All eyes were on Isabel. "Ever since the announcement that they'd found his skeleton, he's been hanging around, staring at my legs."

That didn't sound like Richard. Or maybe he was into older women. Kimberly tried not to be jealous of Isabel. It wasn't as if she fancied Richard, after all.

"He's at the bar now, trying to drink spirits." As they turned to Eddie, the whole group had expressions almost more incredulous than before, if that was possible.

"No, he isn't," Jon said. "He's interfering with the pool players, blowing on the balls after they hit them."

Kimberly looked round. Richard was standing behind her, listening to the conversation. "How can there be more than one of you?" she asked him, ignoring Anne's wail of, "Why am I the only one who can't see him?"

"I don't know," Richard replied. "But what's a clone?"

* * *

**Richard III clones**  
DNA taken from skeleton used to create ghosts of long-dead king  
 _by Kimberly Lexington_


End file.
